


The one where Chandler got attacked

by AmyNChan



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: I wrote this ages ago for some laughs, That changes TODAY, can't believe I never posted it before now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 18:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18481708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyNChan/pseuds/AmyNChan
Summary: Chandler's had an interesting day.





	The one where Chandler got attacked

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow…”

Every head in the apartment turned to find Monica gingerly leading Chandler into the room, the latter pressing his hand firmly against his head.  Rachel was tucked up on the armchair, a spoon of yogurt in her hand.  Phoebe sat on the ground in front of her, ice cream being her snack of choice.  Joey sat on the couch adjacent, but only had a spoon on-hand.  Ross had no such spoon and instead seemed to be feasting on an ice cream sandwich.  All of them, however, seemed to turn away from their delicacies to watch their friends make a beeline to the kitchen space in front of the door.  Monica sat Chandler down before immediately turning to the fridge.

“Just…let me get the ice pack,” she muttered, already digging into the freezer for it.

“No, I figured I’d do it myself, what with the blinding pain and all,” commented Chandler.  He attempted to move his hand away, but a sharp sting forced him to reapply the pressure with a most Chandler-like yelp.

“Man, we leave you guys alone for two hours.”  Joey laughed as he shook his head and reached over to stick his spoon in Phoebe’s ice cream.  Thanks to her distraction, he managed to get a rather large spoonful this time.  “So what happened?”

Chandler gave an aggravated sigh as he glared at the one who was supposed to be his friend.  Commiserating over his pain instead of laughing with ice cream in-hand.  The _nerve_.  The absolute _gall_ of some people.  “I’ll have you know…that I was attacked.”

“Was it a spirit?” asked Phoebe, her eyes widening and her hand gone to cover her mouth.  Probably to make sure no ice cream fell out.  She took a moment to gulp her food before continuing.  “I sensed a kind of weird energy this morning, but I didn’t have any time to cleanse you before you left.  Maybe I should do that now?”

“Pheebs, honey, you really don’t have to do that,” interjected Rachel.  “Remember the last time you cleansed us?  Our apartment caught on fire?”

“Oh yeah…” Phoebe took a moment to recall what they now dubbed the Valentine’s Fiasco. 

Rachel hummed as she stuck her spoon back into her yogurt and turned so she could see Chandler.  The man was currently being fussed over by Monica, who was trying to get him to take an ice pack wrapped in a clean dish rag.

“Why can’t I just use the ice pack by itself?  Why do I need a rag on it?”

“Because you could burn yourself if it’s not there.”

“It’s an ice pack! It’s been in the freezer, not the oven!”

“Just take it before I have to wrap it onto your head.”

The threat was enough to make him gingerly take the ice pack and press it against his face.  Though Rachel would be the last person to tell Monica that he had opened the rag enough to let the ice pack make direct contact with his skin.  Though, guessing from the audible sigh of relief that came from him, Rachel supposed he wouldn’t be burned now or anytime soon.

“So what attacked you?”

“How do you know it’s a what?” asked Chandler.  “For all you know, it could be a who.  We could have been in an armed robbery.”

“Nah,” disagreed Joey with a chuckle.  “If you guys were robbed, Monica would have called the police and then we would have heard about the daring exploits of Sheriff Bing when you came in instead of all the ows.”

Monica, Rachel, Phoebe, and Ross turned to Joey in curiosity as he took another swipe of Phoebe’s ice cream.  Chandler edged some more of the dish rag off his ice pack.  Possibly in hopes that Joey would see the ‘SAY NO MORE’ look on his face.

“Sheriff Bing?” asked Ross at long last.  Joey nodded before swallowing.

“Oh yeah, it’s something that he says after he meets a police officer and sometimes when he has—”

“O-KAY, that’s enough of that now,” interjected Chandler, throwing something in Joey’s direction.  The man could not dodge the dish rag of righteous vengeance, and so his spoon was contaminated in the attack.

To say Joey looked as though someone kicked his puppy was an understatement.  “Heey…”

“Serves you right,” muttered Chandler as he pressed the bare ice pack to his skin.

“Chandler, that’s supposed to keep you from getting an ice burn,” complained Monica.  She hurried back into the kitchen for another rag.

“Monica, I’m fine,” said Chandler, taking removing the ice pack from his face to let her inspect the damage.  A swelling bruise under his eye and a cut, but no burn.  He quickly replaced the pack.  “I don’t need it.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” said Rachel, getting out of the chair and walking over to her friends.  “Chandler, I thought you ran into a door or something; what _happened_ to you?”

“Like I said, I was attacked.”  Chandler took a moment to take in his friends’ faces, most of which were showing various degrees of surprise.  Monica was handing him another dish rag with a frown on her face.  “Does no one in this room believe me when I say anything?”

“To be fair, you’re a little sarcastic sometimes,” said Ross, his own spot on the couch abandoned as he came closer to the three in the kitchen.

Chandler blinked at him through his remaining eye.  Just once.  Once for one eye.  “You don’t say…”

“Yeah, just like that,” said Ross, gesturing to his friend with an encouraging smile.  “Sometimes that makes it hard to tell if you’ve been _attacked_ or if you just fell down and thought that _saying_ you were attacked was a good way to get the bruise.”

Chandler stared at him for a moment longer, decided the topic wasn’t worth pursuing, and then directed his gaze elsewhere.  Namely at the wide-eyed blonde who was now observing his every move at an incredibly short range.

“Yeah…  you might be haunted,” mused Phoebe before drawing away.  Her forehead wrinkled in concern as she sighed.  “Are you sure you don’t want me to cleanse you?  All I’d need is a match and some of the hair of the spirit that’s following you.”

“Thanks Phoebe, but I’m fresh out of matches,” said Chandler, a wan smile stretching across his face.

“Darn,” said the woman.  “The matches are the most important part…”

A drawer shut out of Chandler’s sight and the next thing he knew, there was a rag right in front of his face.   It waggled impatiently when all he did was stare at it.  “Monica, I don’t need it!”

“Yes, you do,” insisted Monica.

“No, I don’t.  It takes away the cold part of having an ice pack on my face!”

“That’s the point.  Just put it on.”

Chandler sighed and swiped the rag out of the air.  He then placed it on the table and used it as a quite appropriate arm rest.  Monica gaped at him for a moment before he stuck his tongue out at her.  Her silence then turned into a single scoffing laugh before she leaned back on the counterspace with folded arms.  “Fine,” she said simply.  “Next time you get hit in the face with a pigeon, don’t expect me to keep you from getting an ice burn afterwards.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” interjected Rachel.  She then pointed at Chandler.  “You got hit in the face with a pigeon?”

“I was _attacked_ by a pigeon.”

“So a pigeon just decided to hit you in the face?”

“It was a thirteen-ounce body slam of _fury_.”

Having nothing to say to that, Rachel just decided on an ‘ah’ sound as she attempted to process the information.

“You know, pigeons are supposed to be excellent navigators,” said Ross.  “It’s why they can live in the city.  It’s weird that one just ran into you.”

“Ooh, do you think it’s good luck?” asked Phoebe, the idea coming to her swiftly.  When her friends all directed their curious gazes on her, she knew she would have to elaborate.  “You know, like how when a bird poops on you, it’s supposed to be good luck?  Only—only instead of poop, you get the whole bird, so it’s like it’s even _more_ good luck.”

Chandler was certain that if there were a laugh track to narrate the lives of him and his friends, it would have played at that exact moment.

“Well, if I find a twenty-dollar bill in the street, I’ll let you know,” said Chandler.  At this point, the ice pack was shifting and getting warmer.  He turned it over to try and squeeze every last bit of comforting coolness that he could.

“Yeouch!”

Everyone in the kitchen turned to see Joey pressing the dish rag to his forehead, eyes shut tight.  “Hey, Monica, I don’t think your rag trick works.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not stopping my brain freeze.”

Monica stopped for a moment to take in the utter _ridiculousness_ of what her friend had just said.  But before she could pull her reaction together enough to make a retort, Chandler beat her to it.  He turned to her with his open eye, cracked a shit-eating grin, and said the following:

“Told ya I didn’t need it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this ages ago and I've got no clue as to why I didn't post it when it was finished. XD Literally only needed _one_ edit... XD ah well. Hope y'all enjoyed it!


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